“Locked.”
Spike glared at Angel incredulously and then shoved him aside to try the door for himself. It singularly failed to give under his preternatural strength, or under the foot he aimed at it. The glare – one of his ‘burst into fucking flames, you bastard’ specials – didn’t work either.
With a – hopefully dramatic – huff, Spike strode back over to the bench and flung himself down, grunting when his ribs contacted with the bare wood. That was that, he guessed. They were stuck here till morning until some dozy bugger let them out, always presuming they hadn’t turned into tadpoles or something in the high humidity. Talking of which…
“Chuck another log on the burner, pet,” he called over to Angel, who was still inspecting the door, and folded his arms behind his head. His eyes drifted closed as he added, “Just cos we’re stuck here, doesn’t mean we have to end up with chilblains.”
“Do it yourself,” grumbled Angel as he closed his eyes and tried to relax, letting the stress of the last few hundred years melt away with the perspiration. Vampires did indeed sweat; just because they didn’t respire didn’t mean that they didn’t get hot.
He grumbled again under his breath. This could have been good. He could have been trapped in a sauna with Buffy or Cordy or even Willow and one of her girlfriends but no, he was here with Spike. Half naked. More than half naked. Lying back on the bench with steam gushing over him feeling hotter than he had in a lifetime or five. What a waste.
Still if Spike would just keep his mouth shut, he could pretend. He did a lot of pretending. All the time people accused him of brooding he was away with the fairies trying to ignore the fact that real life was total crap.
Of course Spike, being Spike, didn’t.
“Remember Budapest? Reckon that was worse than this. Thought we were never gonna get out of there and those old cows wandering around in the all-together. Looked like a bleeding undertakers on an off day.”
How could he ever forget? Angel cracked open his eyes and stared at the ceiling, hoping against hope that it would stop the images playing out in the darkness of his mind. For once it wasn’t the blood and violence – though there had been enough of that during their enforced sojourn at the Kiraly Baths. No, it was the other memories that crashed back in to bother him. The ones that reminded Angel how he and Spike had whiled away those monotonous hours.
“Good times,” Spike sighed, and Angel’s nod happened without his conscious volition. He really didn’t want to remember. In fact, if he could scour his mind totally clean of the images, he would.
“Do you miss it?” asked Spike. That tiniest of nods had given him confidence. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who dreamt of blood and come and long vicious fucks up against a wall.
He missed the feed so much sometimes, he could taste the blood in his mouth and feel the tear of delicate flesh as it ripped apart and it made him bitter and sick from needing it. It made him hard.
Angel didn’t answer.
After a moment or two, Spike propped himself up on his elbows and glared over at Angel who was sat on the floor by the door. Angel’s face was as impassive as it always was, with no flicker of emotion to betray his inner life. That left Spike confused, it always did and it always had, and with the confusion came anger.
“Tell me you feel something, you arrogant fuck,” he yelled after five long minutes of silence had passed and Angel was still staring at the ceiling. Getting to his feet, Spike paced the tiny room, wishing he had a cigarette. The stress of being stuck here with the one person who remembered was close to unbearable.
On one particularly violent turn, his hip banged against the door, snagging his towel which slipped down off his hips.
Angel immediately closed his eyes and turned his face away.
Catching the movement – and his towel – Spike paused and stared at Angel thoughtfully. In his experience, when people turned away like that, it was in denial. So what was Angel denying? That he remembered? That he felt? That he craved?
The hands clamped across Angel’s groin and his raised knees were the give away Spike needed, and he silently tasted the air. Beneath the heavy wetness of the steam and the acridity of burning wood came the distinctive scent of Angel’s arousal. It was a smell Spike had come to desire and loathe in equal amounts over the twenty years they ran together, but whatever emotions it conjured, he would never forget it.
‘Denial, thy name is Angel,’ he murmured to himself. There was still no reaction, so Spike decided to take the mountain to Mohammed.
Humming innocently, he settled down next to Angel, close enough that the slightest of movements would see them touching, and gazed up at the ceiling.
“It was hot like this in Athens when we were there in ‘91, d’you remember? Made for easy pickings. They were slow and sluggish and we could take all the time in the world. You’d find me a target, nice tanned, dark haired boy, ripe with muscles, big brown eyes and you’d watch me flirt and run my hands over his body, kissing him and pulling him off to a quiet corner. I’d feel your eyes on me all the time, watching me take little nips of his neck sucking out droplets of blood until he’d dip his head and offer me more.”
Spike grinned as he looked sideways and watched Angel rub the heel of his palm into his groin in a slow rhythm.
“You liked that bit the best didn’t you? Watching me seduce them?”
“No.”
Spike was surprised; he hadn’t expected Angel to give in so quickly and he smiled. “Which bit was it you enjoyed the most then, luv?”
“Stop right there, Spike,” growled Angel, “I don’t want to do this. I don’t want you. I never did. Angelus would fuck just about any hole he could find.”
Spike reached over and pulled away the towel with a quick flick of the wrist. Angel’s erection was exposed, arching up from the froth of curly dark hair, bending slightly to the right, inclining toward Spike.
“Your cock still likes me well enough. Or does that belong to Angelus?”
Angel could hear the blood roaring inside his body; feel his dead heart coming back to life. From somewhere, God only knew where, there was a pulse pounding through him, filling his cock with more and more blood until it swelled to full rigidity and throbbed along with every one of Spike’s words.
“Want.”
He only heard what he was interested in and shut out the rest of Spike’s babble.
“Inside.”
Wanted to put his hands over his ears and scream. Needed to take Spike’s dirty mouth and silence it with a throatful of spunk.
“Me.”
You, always you. Driving me mad. Making me hate you. Making me want you.
“Fuck.”
“Yes. Fuck. Now.”
Wicked grin gone from his face, Spike dropped to the floor on all fours, towel discarded, arching like a whore.
The burn when Angel tore into him was better than ever he remembered. He hadn’t had a cock inside him since his grandsire had left. He’d taken hundreds of blokes, fucked them raw just the way Angel did him -- made them hurt, made them bleed, made them cum and cum and come back for more.
‘You did want me, you lying bastard.’
Angel continued to pound into him silent except for the animalistic grunting and Spike looked over his shoulder to watch the way the veins bulged and tendons corded, needing to see that greedy passion which used to consume Angelus like fire. The only time he’d ever felt wanted was when they were fucking and he looked into those brown contrary eyes and saw a hint of something other than loathing.
The blood was running down Spike’s thighs now, spilling easily over damp skin and he could feel it trickling down onto the floor. He tensed up, waiting, and then it happened just as it always had. Angel roared and pulled out, lapping up the sticky red trails until they smeared pink over the pale overheated skin, burying his tongue deep inside Spike, licking and sucking, panting as he forced himself further in, an arm wrapped round Spike’s thigh pulling him closer, the other hand rubbing and stroking at Spike’s cock.
Angelus used to keep Spike in this limbo state teetering on the point of orgasm for hours. His favourite game had been to penetrate Spike with a fang then feed slowly, working him with fingers and tongue until Spike would beg and plead to be allowed to climax. Spike had watched Angelus play the same game with Darla. She loved the pain as he suckled from her clitoris as if it were a nipple. The difference was Angelus always allowed Darla to come. Often he would be left in need while Angelus ran off to find another more appealing hole to fuck.
Unaware of Spike’s thoughts, Angel was swimming in lust. The taste of Spike’s blood was like opium. Rich, bitter and full of emotion and pain. It made him wonder how he tasted nowadays. He was sure he’d be bland. He felt bland, sad and boring as fuck. So many questions he wanted to ask. So much he’d missed while he was stuck up on that pedestal with his soul intact and his heart baying for something, anything that could give him a reason to go on.
Why should he care what people thought anymore?
Flipping Spike over he lifted the younger vampire’s legs and slid back inside the wet hole. Slick with blood and spit he rode into Spike, jabbing at the sweet spot with a roll of the hips and smiling in delight at the look of shock on Spike’s face. He wanted them to come together, needed to remind Spike how good he was at fucking even after all this time. Bending forward he offered his bloodied mouth to Spike’s for a kiss and the younger vampire sucked at him hungrily, cleaning the blood off and nipping at his tongue, making Angel’s pelvis grind and pump harder in response.
He wanted more. Sitting up, he hefted Spike with him and sat back against the wall, pulling Spike onto his lap, bucking up until his cock thrust into that tight hole. Groaning at the exquisite pain, they kissed once more, allowing it to soften this time into a more human slide of tongues and suck of lips. Angel watched in unadulterated pleasure as Spike rode him hard, grunting as he was filled with cock and fucked with the slip of Angel’s wet fingers.
“Couldn’t take my eyes off you, Spike, my cock was hard as iron, hating the way you’d play with those humans. You never looked at me, too busy feeding and burying your fingers in them.”
Angel slowed the fuck down, one hand on Spike’s hip showing him the rhythm
“Didn’t need to look at you,” muttered the younger vampire. “Knew you were there.”
Oh, yeah, Angel was always there. When he closed his eyes the scent of wild flowers mixing with sweet red wine, sweat and musk filled his head. His skin burned with the day’s residual heat, bleeding from the stonework of the old taverna, and voices, raised in song and laughter, spilled out into the courtyard.
“Stay there,” Angelus whispered, pressing Spike back into the shadows with a kiss. “I’ll fetch dinner.”
The boy drew his eye immediately he set foot through the door. Dark like dates were dark, burnished by the sun until their ripeness plummeted them to the ground. Angelus reached for him, ran a hand through his hair and tugged him against his body. And that was all it took.
Yannis his name was; hot as a furnace and pulsing with life. Angelus heated him up even more and led him outside to Spike, passing the luscious treat over with a gentle three way kiss. Spike guided Yannis into a corner and boy pressed up between his legs, rubbing himself against Spike, and cooling off from the heaviness of that sultry summer heat.
The vampires’ eyes met over the boy’s shoulder and Angelus stepped up to the challenge. Their bodies moved in concert; Spike to his knees, tugging the lad’s baggy white trousers down to his knees, Angelus close behind, spooning Yannis against his chest. Pale hands parted a grubby shirt and explored a chest as smooth as a young god’s, tweaking at nipples hard enough to make the boy writhe and bare his neck to the creature behind him.
Angelus licked a trail up that thrumming neck and watched Spike as he worked the boy’s cock, teasing the tip with fingers and tongue. The pulse in the Yannis’s throat jumped and he moaned, reaching for Spike’s hair. Angelus gathered the trespassing hands and held them firm, whispering, “Let him do as he wills, lad. It’ll be the better for you.”
It wasn’t a deliberate untruth. In fact not a lie at all. Angelus had seen Spike bite clean through a dick in his mouth because some fool thought to take by force what he was offering. Although in the long run, it would make no real difference; Yannis would bleed for them either way.
Slicking his fingers with his own blood, Angelus pressed between the boy’s cheeks and stroked over his hole.
“Please.” The moan was so heartfelt, so desperate, that Angelus didn’t tease for long. Cock replaced fingers and he pushed home just as Spike swallowed Yannis down. And this was why they did it. The clench and flutter of heated human around him as Spike bobbed his head gave Angelus the illusion of being in Spike’s mouth. Like fucking and getting blown at the same time.
Angelus groaned as his demon sprang forwards, enticed by the promise of sex and blood. Scents deepened, sounds became louder until his head buzzed with the thumping of the human’s heart as it sped up in his chest. Arousal permeated everything, drenching the air with a flavour that could not be ignored. The boy was so close, his fingers plucking at Angelus’s shirt sleeves.
At Yannis’s feet, Spike glanced up and Angelus saw as his eyes shimmered from blue to gold. The time had come.
Fangs pierced the boy’s flesh simultaneously, and he screamed his climax into the night air. Blood gushed into Angelus’s throat, driven by a heartbeat that slammed the life from Yannis’s body. He convulsed in Angelus’s arms, nearly throwing Spike free of his choice feeding spot.
Spike snarled and came back for more, blood and come running down his chin as he clamped the boy’s hips tight to hold him still.
And with that snarl, Angel fell back into his own body. Steam and damp wood replaced wildflowers and wine. The body he thrust into was no longer scalding and alive but cool like his own, damp with sweat and tears and desperation.
His fingers released their death grip on Spike’s cock, and immediately his belly was drenched.
“Thank fuck,” Spike gasped, his head falling forward and banging into Angel’s. “Brooding and shagging don’t make good bed partners, mate,” he added and kneeled up so that Angel’s flaccid cock slipped free of his body.
Angel lifted his hand, glanced at the spunk dripping from his fingers, and
then stared down at his groin. He was soft, ergo he must have come. But he was
damned if he could remember doing it. A mouth closed around his fingers, cleaning
them gently, and Angel raised his head. Spike’s eyes were just as blue as he
remembered. The same colour as the Aegean in the moonlight and, as he watched,
they changed to contain just a hint of summer sun.
| Home | Feedback |